


Learning How to Live (Chaptered Longfic)

by Pichosaurus



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Adorable Connor, Android Gore (Detroit: Become Human), Angst, Blood, Character Death, Connor doesn't know how to human, Connor in hiding, Detroit Police Department (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Deviant Upgraded Connor | RK900, Emotional, Evil Connor, Fluff, Gavin Reed Being Less of an Asshole, Gavin Reed Being an Asshole, Gavin Reed Not Being an Asshole, Gavin Reed Redemption, Gavin Reed is Bad at Feelings, Good Dog Sumo (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson Swears, Hank forces Connor to deviate, Hank saves Connor, Hank teaches Connor how to Human, Hurt Gavin Reed, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Long, Machine Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Major Character Injury, No Smut, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other, Pre-Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Protective Hank Anderson, Secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:53:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29473521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pichosaurus/pseuds/Pichosaurus
Summary: Hank is starting to warm up to Connor, the DPD's newest piece of tech, in a loving kind of asshole way. So, when the RK800 is caught up in an attack and declared as scrap, he realises he has to save him - and teach him how to live.With Connor stashed away in secret, Hank is dealing with a whole new lot of worries - as if his life wasn't stressful enough before. But Connor, as much as he's CyberLife's most advanced machine, is still just a machine - and Hank needs this to change.
Relationships: Connor & Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Connor & Sumo, Hank Anderson & Gavin Reed
Comments: 23
Kudos: 42





	1. The Hotel Job

The hotel corridor was a mess. The light bulbs seem to have been smashed deliberately, and a cleaning trolley lay on its side, bottles, rags and a half-empty bin bag's contents scattered at the end of the corridor. Next to it, a human figure, looking as though they had been thrown the same way as the trolley - haphazardly. They lay perfectly still, unmoving and unblinking. It truly was an unsettling sight.

With an unnerving grinding noise and a distinctive clunk, the elevator gave an unfittingly cheery ding as it opened. Inside, three figures were stood - none of them with particularly friendly expressions on their faces. One of them looked especially steely, face unchanging as he took in the scene ahead of him. 

The air in the corridor smelled artificial. There was a definite chemical tinge to it, with undertones of hot electronics, which almost certainly didn't come from the cleaning supplies littering the floor.

"Fuck, that shit's strong," one of the men gasped a little as he stepped out of the elevator. He was a rugged looking man; silver hair, icy blue eyes and a rather unkempt hint of a beard which silently told the story of a man who had, for lack of a better term, gone through some shit. His jacket had seen brighter days, fraying around the edges and missing a button towards the bottom, but otherwise looked 'smart enough,' as he himself had put it - on more than one occasion, at that. Beneath it, a rather questionable shirt peeked out, which looked much like a charity shop had blended together its more eyebrow-raising garments to create this eyesore. It accented his outward appearance the same way a paint spill might accent a carpet.

This, of course, was the Lieutenant. Hank Anderson, Detroit's youngest ever Police Lieutenant - many moons ago, anyway. A well decorated officer whose "disciplinary file looks like a fucking novel," in the ever-kind words of Captain Fowler - long time ‘friend’ and boss.

"Ugh, that's nasty. What is it?" One of the others screwed up his face when the smell hit him. There was nothing explicitly unpleasant about it, per se - it was just unexpected. The more they tried to define it, the further away it was from anything they knew. 

"Chemicals, I bet."

“Makes a difference from the usual smell of alcohol clinging to you. Don’t breathe near me, Anderson, I don’t wanna get drunk on the job,” he smirked as the older man scowled at him. 

"Actually," the third one jutted into the conversation. The man on the left, Detective Gavin Reed, with the black hair, cut nose and smartass attitude, rolled his eyes as the third began talking. "I can't quite tell what the scent is myself, but I can tell you that there are traces of used thirium in the air. It is said to have a rather... artificial smell. Peculiar, even. This may be what you can detect," 

Neither of the two men replied to the third's contribution, nor did they really bother to acknowledge it apart from subtle changes in facial expression which didn't say great things. Stepping out of the elevator, they took a minute to properly analyse the scene laid out in front of them. 

"They always gotta take out the damn lights," Anderson muttered as he ran his finger over the ragged edge of a shattered bulb.

Reed said nothing, simply staring at the figure embellishing the bottom of the corridor, a negative expression locked on his face. While the Lieutenant's eyes darted between the sorry sight of a light fixture and the elevator, the third figure began making his way down the corridor.

This was the RK800. Cyberlife's finest, a state-of-the-art prototype android showcasing the very best of the programming and mechanical capabilities of their engineers. This model in particular was given to Detroit Police Department as somewhat of a trial - while not the first policing android by a good few years, it was the first time an android was allowed a hands-on, front seat in investigation. Kitted out as, in short, a walking forensics suite, the android was something the DPD had been crying out for for a long while, and something police departments across the world were aching to get their hands on.

As the android reached the figure, he slowed to a halt to initiate a scan, crouching to get a good view of the figure's face. 

**Model: BV500**

**Release date: 20/04/36**

**Activation date: 17/07/37**

The android on the ground had long since powered off. Its LED acted as a mere shadow of its identity, not even a trace of thirium acting to power it. Its body was rigid and unnaturally positioned, but more than that, it was nothing more than an empty shell. A husk. A metal carcass with a blank, emotionless face, staring straight ahead as if it had never been activated at all. As if it hadn’t just been forcibly shut down and - essentially - murdered. 

The RK800 looked at the carpet beneath it. He made the assumption that the humans he was with wouldn’t be able to see the thirium stains at all anymore due to its age, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t plentiful. In fact, the RK800 deduced that the damage to the android must have been the result of something rather violent, for the amount of thirium spread on the carpet meant it likely would have ‘bled out’ in mere minutes. 

“The callout was made at 18:42, and we’ve just arrived, time 19:26. Judging by the thirium here, my best guess is that this happened at least 6 hours ago,” he reported. 

“And nobody noticed?” The Lieutenant scoffed, not even looking in the android’s direction. “The owner hasn’t even come up here. Apparently he’s out cruisin’ in the Caribbean. Convenient timing that, isn’t it?” 

“Are there other guests on this floor?” Reed ignored Anderson’s information, instead glancing at the door on his left. It had a cheap-looking ‘337’ plate screwed onto it. He ran his finger over it. 

“Only one couple. Room, uh,” Anderson flipped his notebook open to check his notes before he was interrupted. 

“A married male couple, staying in room 342.” 

The Lieutenant glared at the android. He was such a fucking know-it-all, of course he was. ‘Perfect recall my ass,’ he thought, grumpily closing his notebook and shoving it into his coat pocket. “342,” he muttered. 

“What’s that?” Reed smirked at the older man. “Is the old man grumpy that this piece a’ plastic has a better memory than him?” 

“Fuck off,” 

“Thing’s so fuckin’ weird. Look at it. Just staring,” Reed looked at the android. The machine turned its head to look at him before the young detective gave a disgusted grunt and turned away. 

“I didn’t exactly choose to work with him, Gavin. You work with me, you work with him, that’s the whole point of partners. It’s like a… package deal. Anyway - he’s not that bad,” 

“I definitely did not choose to work with the fuckin’ thing. And - I hate the way you call it ‘he’,” 

“Because he has a fucking name. He - Connor - deserves some respect,” 

“It doesn’t know what respect is,” Reed tried the handle to the room previously mentioned, seemingly disinterested in the conversation at hand. It didn’t open. 

“Fucking ignorant,” 

“What did you call me?” Reed’s voice raised. 

“I said you were fucking ignorant!” 

The RK800 - Connor - looked at the two men. “It’s okay. I don’t mind,” he spoke towards Lieutenant Anderson in a calm manner, as if the two men in his company hadn’t just scared a few birds off a nearby windowsill with their shouting. 

“Yeah, well you should,” 

“Leave it alone, Anderson, it said it doesn’t care,” 

“It said it - he, he said he doesn’t mind, not that he doesn’t care!” 

He was shouting again. 

“Can we stop arguing and get on with the investigation,” Connor suggested, a tone of annoyance simulated in his vocal processors. “Please.” 

The two men put their heads down and didn’t say anything, although there were definitely pointed glares from Reed, at both members of his company. 

Pricks. 

Tension hung in the air. Hank quietly took out the key for room 342 and slid it over the scanner. With a click and a beep, it unlocked, and Reed impatiently pushed it open. Connor hadn't yet moved from beside the deactivated android, eyeing the figure cautiously. 

The inside of room 342 was trashed. 

“Shit,” Anderson breathed, taking in the scene. The bed was squint, the gentle woodland scene depicted above it was smashed in one corner, and the possessions of the couple were strewn across the room like a tornado had passed through. “What the fuck?” 

“That android maid did a fucking terrible job,” 

Back in the corridor, Connor listened into the words being spoken in the room. However, he ran it as a mere background process, as he had more pressing matters to attend to. 

**Diagnostic in progress…**

**Both wrists damaged due to pressure.**

**Minor impact damage to left shoulder.**

**Major impact damage to right shoulder, scratched chassis.**

The android cocked his head slightly. Something flashed in front of his vision momentarily, which he quickly logged as important information. 

**There was a struggle.**

Connor resumed the general diagnostic of the deactivated android, yet could only pull one piece of information from the scan. 

**Thirium levels: 98%**

His eyes drifted down to the carpet beneath the android; there was no need to put any of his analysis suite into use, for it was fairly clear from visuals alone: the android the RK800 crouched before couldn't possibly be the owner of the thirium, as there was no damage for it to have leaked from. Connor's LED flashed red momentarily as he realised he should have been able to deduce that immediately. 

Without properly processing what he was going to say, he called out, “There were two androids involved,” 

There was a slight pause before he recognised Lieutenant Anderson’s disbelieving and somewhat skeptical, “What?” 

“The thirium on the ground. This android hasn’t been damaged enough to leak anything at all, let alone how much there is here,” 

Looking for the answer to his next question, Connor reached a hand towards the carpet, running two of his fingers along it before bringing them to his mouth. It was at this exact moment that the Lieutenant had decided to step back into the corridor, eyes falling on the fucking weird scene before him. 

“Jesus Connor, that’s fucking disgus - what the fuck,” 

Unfazed, the android replied, “I’m sampling the thirium,” 

The man momentarily studied the carpet under Connor. One corner of his mouth pulled up involuntarily, and his eyebrows scrunched together in utter discontempt. “There ain’t fuckin' nothin’ there," 

“I’m sure I have told you before, Lieutenant, that thirium evaporates after a short amount of time. It is invisible to the naked human eye, however, my analysis suite allows me to see what was there before the evaporation,” 

Hank was silent for a while, before turning away and muttering something under his breath. Connor, of course, heard all of it, but chose to abandon processing it after the words “fucking real time bullshit” and “licking my fucking crime scene” filtered through. 

Before any remarks could be made from either party, Connor's eyes widened slightly in surprise. "The thirium comes from an AP700 model, the current flagship household assistant. It was only released to the public last week. That's… unexpected. But that means now - where’s the AP700? It probably didn’t come from this hotel," 

“Can’t you see a trail or something?” 

“It’s in an isolated pool. A few drops here and there but nothing solid,” 

"Guys said CCTV was disabled at about 12 o'clock, so we can’t check that. So, if it’s isolated… how do you stop an android bleeding?” 

The detective android thought for a second, LED pulsing yellow as prediction software kicked in to try and piece together what happened. He lifted his head, scouting the corridor for anything, anything he could use to come to a conclusion. 

“There’s no way to without a technician’s repair. Unless someone simply stops it from hitting the floor,” 

“Hey,” Hank stepped forward slightly. “This android looks scuffed. You don’t - think there was a fight, or something? Between the two of them,” 

“I find it highly unlikely two androids would ‘fight’,” 

“I’m just throwing out suggestio-” 

“However,” Connor resumed, ignoring Hank. “I did note damage on this BV500. Both wrists and both shoulders,” 

Hank immediately drew his eyes to the wall, where he pointed at it lazily. “It’s marked,” 

Fair enough, when the RK800 looked at it, the wall was indeed marked - impact damage, just as noted on the android. Connor’s LED pulsed red again. He was going to have to inspect why he was making so many oversights today. 

“That’s it then. The android... was attacked,” Connor concluded with decent certainty. “I don’t have enough evidence to reconstruct the events, though. Who attacked it?” 

“Maybe the A7P-whatever did, like I said before. If this android fought back…” 

“That could be it!” Connor interrupted. Hank’s eyebrows raised as he shook his head to himself. “If the AP700 was attacked, but shut down this android…” 

“What, you’re saying it just… bled here and left?” 

“Maybe. I don’t have enough evidence to be able to make a logical conclusion -” 

“Don’t we all,” 

The RK800 tilted his head slightly, confusion prominent on his face. Before the android could even open his mouth to correct the older man, Hank sighed and waved a hand at him in dismissal. Connor blinked and put his head back down to examine the android carcass once more.

Hank scuffed his feet on the matted and stained carpet as a few silent seconds passed. “Hey, Connor… I know you said earlier that you don’t mind Gavin being a c-” 

Connor stopped him dead in the middle of his sentence, holding a hand up to silence him. His head snapped sharply to the left. He studied the corridor intensely for a few seconds before his audio processors noted the sound of footsteps - muted, cautious and wary, but footsteps nonetheless. 

“Ey-” 

“There’s someone here,” 

Hank was shocked. His hand immediately flew to where his gun rested, taking on a readied stance. “They said they scoped the place before we got here!” 

“They didn’t look hard enough.” Connor said coldly, standing suddenly and abandoning the android on the ground. “This direction. They’re on this floor,” 

Gun now trained on the corridor ahead, Hank poked his head back into the hotel room that Gavin was currently sniffing around in. Reed was lying on the floor inspecting something when he heard Hank open the door, to which he bolted off the ground, frantically brushed his trouser legs to remove any dust and pretended to be interested in a dented deodorant can on the desk. 

“This stuff smells like shit,” he commented offhandedly, putting it back on the desk before pretending to have just seen the Lieutenant, who had a knowing eyebrow raised at Gavin. He had heard the fumbling sounds of him springing to his feet and hastily picking up the deodorant can, but said nothing about it. 

“There’s someone up here. Think it might be the attacker,” 

“Attacker? Who was attacked?” 

“That android maid.” It took Hank a second to realise that the prick had set him up. 

“Vandal.” 

“Whatever,” he decided to brush off the younger man. He really didn’t have the mental energy to have another tiff with Reed. “Connor and I are going in together,” 

“I’ll hang back here a minute,” 

“What? You can't do that, you need to face them as a unit," 

"Like fuck I am. They kicked a Tin Can, I'm sure you can tell them off then run home with your pretty-plastic," 

Hank took a deep breath in. "... Don’t be long. I’m not allowed to do anything without you, but I also can’t fucking stand you. So don’t be long,” 

The door closed with a heavy thud. Gavin smirked. 

Connor was still stood looking down the corridor, looking like some kind of… predator, keeping an eye out for a small creature to pounce on. Hank was simultaneously impressed and somewhat anxious, seeing as this was the same guy who had just been licking the fucking carpet with a straight face. 

“They’re not far away - stay cautious, they might be armed,” the android said confidently. 

“I think I’ve been doing this a lot longer than you have, Connor,” Hank stepped ahead of the android detective, who now watched him as he kept walking with a slow and ready pace, gun drawn. “Detroit Police! Drop any weapon you may have and show yourself with your hands where we can see them!” 

An awful, thick silence hung in the corridor. God knows where Gavin was. Typical. 

Nothing happened. Hank glanced at Connor, and Connor glanced at Hank, but neither of them said anything. Hank somewhat angrily shrugged his shoulders at Connor. 

“I’m primarily a negotiator, Hank, I can’t step in unless the situation calls for it,” Connor said quietly. 

“Don’t you have a gun?” 

“Under the American Androids Act 2029, I am not legally permissible to carry a firearm,” 

Hank huffed and turned his full attention back to the corridor. It was a stupid law. But then again, this was probably exactly why… to stop androids going nuts with them. 

“This is your final warning!” Hank’s voice raised again. “Come out with your weapon dropped and your hands up or we will b- fuck!” 

The figure seemed to come from nowhere. As they darted past the Lieutenant, Hank caught sight of the gun in their hands and immediately felt something spike in his chest. Reaching for his radio, he called in some numeric code asking - demanding, urgently demanding assistance. He didn’t wait for a reply, though he did vaguely hear the sound of a room door banging shut into the corridor, and Reed’s presence behind him. 

Connor, now to the side of Hank, attempted to block and disarm the suspect, grunting as their bodies clashed together; a young looking man wearing a bomber jacket and a beanie, up against a steely cold machine built and programmed to handle these situations. The suspect didn’t have a cha- 

A gunshot rang through the corridor. Hank’s whole body tensed as the noise resounded through his skull with deafening volume, his radio hitting the floor, his eyes fixed on the scene in front of him, frozen in an eternal instant of - of _fear_ -until a thought struck him like a bolt of lightning, and made his insides twist into a knot so hard Hank thought he might throw up - did the shot hit either of them? Hank’s mind was burning with question after question, blinding his thought process with jumbled, broken fragments of words, sentences, vague phrases and - 

There was a starburst splatter of blue against the off-white wallpaper. There was no time for questions. Connor had involuntarily given up on his fight and sunk against the wall, where the shooter took off past him and towards the stairwell. Hank froze. He heard Reed swear violently as he began to sprint after the attacker without a second thought, gun in hand. Hank’s eyes were glued to Connor and the way he was hunched over against the wall, and the way Connor's arm was failing to cover the fact that his own chassis had been blown clean through. Plastic and metal looked damaged beyond repair, and Hank had never seen anything like it. Connor really seemed to be in… pain. His teeth were gritted and the way he held himself up was… human. Far too human. Hank wanted Reed to see this, to change his goddamn mind, but he also didn’t, he didn’t want Reed to see this and share this expe- 

“Hank!” Connor hissed. Even the RK800’s voice sounded off. “What are you doing?!” 

He was on the floor, scrambling for his radio. His hands were shaking, all of his training going straight out the window. The radio slipped from his hands, not once, not twice - three times, three times of wasted seconds. His thought process froze up, his body seemed to catch in action - until he realised he was shouting into the receiver, shouting for someone to assist - shouting that an officer was down. 

“Fuck,” Hank released his breath. The attacker was nowhere to be seen, nor was Reed. Connor was looking up at him with an odd expression - the Android had since slid down into a sitting position, doubled over as if trying to hold in the thirium which was pouring from multiple bullet holes - which seemed to have now converged into one. Painfully sharp plastic jutted out from his abdomen, white and blue - not red, but blue. Blue. It looked like the attacker had a shotgun of sorts. Has to have been, to cause this much damage to the kid - he was, in Hank's brutal terms, blown clean open. Hank was in a terrified state of awe. He’d seen shit like this before, but… if he had shot me and not him, I’d be dead. He didn’t know how Connor wasn’t, although the android’s LED was a stark, painful, solid red. It hadn’t blinked or shifted colour since the attack. 

“Aren’t you going to go after it?” Even Connor’s voice sounded like he was struggling. Hank didn’t even know it was possible. 

“It?” 

“The Android - that was the AP700 we were... looking for,” The RK800’s artificial breathing had sped up considerably. “I felt a makeshift bandage, and there was a slight g…” It seemed like Connor swallowed. “Glow under its cap…” 

“Reed's got it. I - fuck, I should have gone too. The Android’ll be going for an exit,” Hank breathed as he fumbled for his radio. “The armed individual is likely heading for an exit coming from the stairs, Detective Reed is alone in pursuit. Looks like the suspect is carrying a shotgun. Suspect is confirmed to be a Deviant Android. Connor’s been shot and it’s… not looking good,” 

“We can’t send anyone up while the suspect is still at large. Report on Reed?” 

“No idea. They left about 30 seconds ago, sprinting. Not sure if the Deviant knows Reed is going after it,” 

“How’s the RK unit holding up? You said it was shot?” 

Hank hadn’t taken his eyes off Connor, who seemed to be struggling more and more. It looked like he was making attempts to close up his own chassis and stop the bleeding, holding in his own insides, though the attempt was fruitless. The blue liquid had seeped into the carpet; the wall was smeared and splattered; Connor’s uniform was destroyed, ripped and saturated with blue - stark sapphire blue. The kid didn’t look like he was gonna last much longer. 

“Not well.” 

Connor gave an almost weak laugh. Hank fixed the handheld radio back onto his belt and stopped beside the dying Android for a second. The look in his eyes was almost indescribable. Sad. 

“I’m sorry,” 

“What?” Connor choked out. Hank was frightened by how… lifelike all this was. Connor looked like a kid who had - well - survived a goddamn shotgun wound to the stomach. If not for the parts of Connor’s face where synthetic skin was starting to go patchy, or the part where, through the flood of blue liquid, harsh white plastic poked through in places they absolutely should not have, Hank really thought he could pass as human. 

“I’m sorry. If I had intervened you wouldn’t have been shot like this,” 

“Rather me than - you,” 

“Well, maybe so - it’s a fuckin miracle you survived that at all - but I still feel like shit, damn it,” Hank stole a glance towards the stairs. No sign of Reed yet, nor the shooter. Certainly not anybody coming to help Connor. Not even a sound. “You’re, uh… gonna make it, right?” 

“My thirium levels are at 40%. Chance of survival, 28%,” 

Hank’s heart leapt. Only Connor could report this to him in fucking percentages. 

“Oh, Connor,” he breathed, crouching down beside the android. “How are you feeling?” 

“The first of my - biocomponents… have started shutting down. It’s a safety measurement. It’s likely over the next few minutes I may involuntarily - enter stasis. Please don’t, don’t be concerned,” 

“I,” Hank shook his head. “I don’t know what the fuck that means,” 

“It might look like I… shut down,” Hank watched Connor’s facial expression. He didn’t trust himself entirely at this moment, but he swore he saw - he saw some fear in there. He didn’t know if the hesitation was because the guy’s energy was running out or because he was… actually scared. 

“But that’s not dangerous, right?” Hank tried to keep his tone positive. He’d done endless courses about this in his training. It’d been a while since he’d had a refresher course, but he was fairly certain he knew the basics of staying calm enough to not panic the other person. Could Connor panic? This whole situation was making Hank question everything. 

“Depends,” Connor’s eyes closed for a second. “I wouldn’t be - hopeful,” 

Hank remained silent. He watched as Connor shifted slightly. Something was making the Lieutenant uncomfortable, unsettled. The same way he'd be if a human colleague was in the same position. 

Connor was his colleague. 

The whole situation was insane. Hank hated Androids. He hated them with a passion. He thought the world would be better off without the things, and there would be no great loss if the whole lot were set alight in a dumpster. He wished they didn't exist. 

And yet here Hank was, getting emotional over his partner of a mere 4 weeks, made of plastic and bio-whatevers. Bleeding blue and an LED glowing a red which burned right through the older man. Hank was crouching here, probably putting Connor’s consciousness over Reed’s life, doing so many things he shouldn’t do. He should have ran after the Android. He should have called it in faster. He should have shot. He should have forced Connor to take his gun, whatever, he could have done so many things differently. 

He stole a glance at the lifeless Android beside the cleaning cart. It looked so long gone, but in reality, it had only been a few hours. 

Hank didn’t think he could face seeing Connor like that. The blue which was still rather steadily leaking past his arms, folded over himself, would be gone in a few mere hours. In a way, Hank guessed he didn’t want it to. Almost like… it was erasing what happened. If he did lose Connor here, he wasn’t prepared for it to just - disappear. 

“You should… go see what’s happening,” Hank didn’t like the way Connor’s voice sounded less like his own and more like a… forced, robotic phrase. It wasn't him. It wasn't his voice. It sent a shiver down his spine - he felt... disgusted. “I haven’t heard anything yet. Be safe,” 

Hank turned to look down the corridor Reed had followed the Android down. Connor was right. Anything could be happening. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I’m gonna lose my job for this shit. I hate that ratbag, but if anything’s hap-” 

Hank looked back at Connor and almost jumped. Connor’s eyes were closed and his LED had changed from a striking red to a pale, wavering yellow. Hank watched it fade in and out a couple of times before his heart stopped hammering at his chest quite so violently. He decided this was the ‘stasis’ the kid had mentioned. He couldn't take his eyes off it. He was almost waiting for it to fade out, and stay like that. 

Depends. 

Hank hoped to God that was some shitty attempt at humour. 

He picked up his handgun from the floor, and rose to his feet, straightening his jacket as he did so. He glanced at Connor and the worryingly calm look on his face, then at the android maid, before whispering something about Connor being alright and setting off down the corridor, breaking into a run after a couple of seconds. 

That fucker better be okay.


	2. As Good as Scrap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank faces work the next day; Gavin is a dick.

Detroit Police Station was unusually deserted for the day. The officers were hardly about to complain - time off was time off, after all - but it certainly didn’t feel quite right seeing the reception totally silent. There were two female Androids stationed behind the freshly cleaned desk, whose stares held an expression as empty as the room itself. 

So, naturally, when Mr Hank Anderson himself threw the doors open to the entrance hall, there would be quite a commotion. Both Androids snapped their heads up to look at him, and the human on the end lifted hers in a notably more unfazed manner, lazily drawing her eyes away from the magazine propped half-assedly against the desk. 

“Morning Lieutenant,” she greeted him, totally ignoring the mild scene he just entered with. Her name was Lisa, or Linda, or… or something like that. Hank could never remember, and he didn’t particularly care to. The digital magazine in her hand was now resting on the desk, facing Hank. The white letters emblazoned on the front of it read “ANDROID ASTRONAUTS TO EXPLORE IO”. 

The Lieutenant grunted in response to the greeting and lifted his hand in a half-assed attempt at acknowledgement. Quite honestly, between the way his head pounded with every step, and the way the floor didn’t seem to be staying still, it was safe to say that Hank would much rather be anywhere which wasn’t work today. 

Yesterday’s events hadn’t yet left his mind - the moment Connor had been shot had been running over and over again in his head, like a stuck record. Every time the flashback ended, it started again, as fresh and vivid as the moment it happened. 

_The gunshot ringing through the corridor._

_The starburst of blue._

_The way Connor froze._

_The way Hank stood there and did fuck all._

He scowled as he pushed the precinct gate open. The security Android did nothing to question him, as it occasionally did. Hank sloped past it as quickly as he could, head down and the glowering look still prominent. He couldn’t face these things today. 

A couple of the officers looked up at him as he entered the precinct. He didn’t let on. Gavin Reed was sitting at his desk, looking somewhat out of it until he caught sight of the somewhat dishevelled man, to put it lightly. 

“You!” 

Hank lifted his eyes to meet Gavin before he sighed, eyes drawing back towards the floor for a second. “Fuck, I know -” 

“You were supposed to fucking follow! ‘I can’t leave you alone’,” Reed mocked him before forcibly slamming his hands on the desk, a nearby coffee jumping and subsequently sloshing over the side of the cup. “For fuck’s sake! Anything could have happened but you, what, sat weeping over your plastic friend?!” 

“It wasn’t like th-” 

“Then tell me how it was! That was a total break of policy, I could have been killed and that would have been on you,” 

“There were four officers outside the hotel by the time you g-” 

“If you had sh-” 

“Stop fucking interrupting me!” 

Hank felt the following silence hang thick in the air. He felt like all attention was on them. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, especially not recently, but God, he hated it every single time. Reed always knew how to let silences make him look like the dick. 

“You two okay?” 

Chris Miller was sitting at his desk with a somewhat concerned look on his face. He was watching the two men, with Gavin now risen out of his seat and staring Hank down. 

“We’re fucking _fine_ ,” Hank snapped. 

“What the fuck is your problem today?” Reed shot back. 

Hank felt himself move to speak, anger surging through his body, but decided against it, almost physically biting his tongue. He couldn’t be arsed dealing with this. Not today. He simply turned his back on Reed and started walking to his desk, despite the younger man’s protests. God, that man sounded like a terrier sometimes - he just didn't shut up. He glanced in Fowler’s office, where he saw the captain, phone at his ear but eyes staring Hank down with a severely unimpressed scowl on his face. Great. That was going to be an interesting conversation later. 

As he hit his seat, he sighed. He was exhausted, and if nothing else, his headache was most definitely worse than it had been when he got here. He rubbed a hand on his forehead as he looked at his desk. It was a mess. 

And that’s the seat Connor used to sit and harass him in. 

He physically shook his head, sick of the thoughts which had been plaguing him since last night. He’d known the kid for less than a week. But he was his partner. And in less than a week the guy had single handedly changed Hank’s entire perspective on Androids. He went from wanting to smash him to pieces in Jimmy’s the first time they met, to being genuinely upset when he - 

When Connor… 

When… 

Hank couldn’t even think it. He couldn’t even finish the thought in his head, even though in the background, he knew his mind was screaming it, and it hadn’t stopped since leaving the hotel. 

When Hank left Connor, things… really escalated. He found Reed silently facing the Android on the ground floor, hands raised in the air, gun at his feet - thrown down in compliance. The Android had the gun pointed at Reed close enough to kill him in an instant if he made one wrong move. Hank’s breath had caught in his throat in that moment. He stopped still as he walked in on the scene. 

It felt like his heart had simultaneously stopped and gone into total overdrive. He froze up. 

_“Drop your weapon,” the Android ordered. Its tone was calm yet held a note of aggression that Hank didn’t want to play with. “Drop your weapon now!”_

_He didn’t have a choice. He was stood on the stairs behind Gavin, in a perfect position where the Android barely had to move the gun to change his point of threat. Even if he wasn’t - both men knew fine well that they were essentially outnumbered. The thing had reflexes fast enough to practically predict their next moves, let alone just act on them._

_Hank reached for his gun, and a thought of shooting the damn thing flashed through his head momentarily. But he knew, not only would they both get shot in the process, but Hank’s bullet would likely do jack shit to the machine. He tossed the gun in front of his feet._

_"Come in Anderson, Anderson? We have a small squad positioned outside the main entrance. Repeat, small squad outside main entrance,"_

_Hank didn't dare even acknowledge the radio. Part of him hoped the Android didn't hear it, but by the way its attention was trained on him and only him, he knew that the hope was dashed through._

Hank shifted in his chair. He knew fine well that the Android could have shot him and Gavin right there and then. He should have silenced that radio the minute he saw a conflict. He should have thought. He should have thought, he should have thought, he should have thought. 

His elbows hit the desk as he rested his head in his hands. 

Connor fucking died because he was too hungover to think fast enough the first time. 

He knew fine well that there was a thin, thin line separating the chance that Gavin and himself could have been killed, to the reality that they scraped it out alive. The only reason he was still here was because of the rest of the force’s thinking. 

Time felt as though it slowed as Hank waited for the Android’s next move. Tell him to call them off, or just shoot him then and there, whatever - Hank just hated the silence. The distant sounds of cars and crackling of radios outside reassured neither men in the foyer corridor. 

Replaying it in his head, things could have gone so, so differently. Right from the moment that fucking Android showed up in the first place, to the moment the squad stormed the entrance when neither Hank nor Gavin replied. Stupid, miniscule choices would have left them all in an entirely different situation. 

_“ - hands up!”_

_Shouting. Heavy footsteps and slamming doors. The clicking of safety switches._

_In all honesty, it was a blur._

_… stumbled past, behind the armed team…_

_… storm of bullets… the beginning of a shout…_

_… the second explosion of blue Hank witnessed that day…_

Hank’s eyes drifted to the board in front of him. Stickers and logos which had been there for years. His desk was the only one to be so, uh, decorated, and Hank had hardly been known for being subtle in his opinions. 

**WE DON’T BLEED THE SAME COLOUR.**

Hank felt an overwhelming pull of emotions. Anger. Hatred. Sadness. Anger again. 

He reached forward and picked at the side of the sticker, getting more and more agitated the more times his nail simply ran over the top of it, until he finally caught hold of the slightly yellowing paper - and ripped it violently enough that it left a streak of sticky, fuzzy residue on the wall, but that didn’t matter for now. He just wanted the fucking thing gone. 

He glanced across the office, and caught Chris’ eye. In fact, it looked like Chris had been watching him for a little while. When Hank saw him start to stand, he sighed, preparing himself for whatever the fuck was going to be said now. 

“Hey,” 

Hank plastered a grim smile on his face in acknowledgement, swinging round in his chair to face his colleague and planting an elbow on the table. 

Chris thought for a second, as if he hadn't expected this to be the Lieutenant's reply. "Are you, uh," he lowered his voice, glancing around momentarily to check nobody was listening in. "Are you alright after last night?" 

Hank thought for a second. He and Chris had been friends for a long time now, and working together even longer, and there were various things which Hank would trust him with entirely. He had every right to be totally honest with him because he knew there was no way Chris was going to laugh at him or judge him or whatever, because Chris was a good guy. 

"What? Yeah, course I'm fine," 

Chris raised an eyebrow. Ah, of course he didn't believe him. 

"You didn't look okay at the scene, Hank," he sighed. "Is it Connor?" 

Hank looked at Chris' eyes. He looked worried. Genuinely worried. 

Hank took a deep breath in. "Yeah. Yeah, it is Connor," 

He reached up to his face to rub his temple. His opinion hadn't changed since walking into the station fifteen minutes ago, he really would rather be anywhere which wasn't at work today - but alas, here he was, having to do what he perhaps considered worse than work: talk about his goddamn feelings. 

"I, um - I heard what happened. I'm sorry, Hank. I never saw him, but I," he cleared his throat. "I was at the station when the repair guys came to pick him up,” 

“Did they say anything?” 

Chris bit his lip. He took a second before telling him, “He’s in repairs, but, they uh… They said he was as good as scrap. I - I’m sorry, Hank-” 

“Fuck. Fuck!” 

“Wait - where are you going?” 

“I’m taking a day off,” 

“I didn’t mean to upse-” 

“I’m not upset,” Hank growled. He quickly scanned his desk before angrily plucking a small stack of papers off it and turning back the way he had come. As expected, and as if on cue, a familiar shout came his way. 

"Ey, hey hey, where do you think you're going?!" 

"Out," 

Reed stood from his desk again, and Hank wanted to - to punch him, or something. He was overwhelmed by a lot of feelings right now and he didn't know how to deal with any of them. 

"Fuck off, Reed," 

He wasn't sure why he didn't quite expect Reed to try and stop him. He was actually rather surprised when Reed bodychecked him before pushing him back into the bullpen by his shoulder. "I don't think so," Gavin laughed - almost snarled. "Not until Fowler gets to speak to you-" 

"He's busy," Hank jabbed a finger towards the glass of Fowler's office, where he was still on the phone looking rather unamused. "And I'm leaving. Get out of my way," 

"You can't just run away from your problems, Anderson," 

“You’re the only fucking problem I’m having right now," Hank shoved the younger man out the way, which was received with a slow laugh. 

"Aaand, shoving a colleague out the way in a fit of anger!" He chuckled, clapping his hands slowly. "God, Fowler is gonna love this, lemme tell y- fuck sake, Anderson, get b- fuck!" 

Hank made sure to accidentally elbow Gavin as he stepped past him. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take today. He heard the vague sounds of Chris attempting to calm Reed down - luckily, not followed my furious approaching footsteps. 

Quite honestly, Hank had handled it… really, really well. In comparison to usual, anyway. Because on the inside, the Lieutenant was seething. He fucking hated that son of a bitch. And today in particular was not the time for him to get in his way. 

He had so many regrets. He was still shaken from last night, as little as he wanted to admit it. He couldn't stop thinking about him, and he was hungover, and he was upset and angry and there was just a lot going on right now which he just really didn't want to deal with. 

He felt like he'd been hit by - he didn't know, a bus or something. 

They said he was as good as scrap. 

_As good as scrap._

_**As good as scrap.** _

Hank felt a rush of air as he stepped outside. He took a second to himself, leaning against the wall of the station as he exhaled shakily. He didn’t know what to do with himself. Everything was - everything was so messy. Maybe it was just him. Probably. Hank the Miserable Old Sod, sounds about right. Bad things follow him, yeah yeah, he was used to it. It was his fault that things went the way they did, and how he could have possibly made things exponentially worse. Surprised absolutely nobody, that one. 

He just didn’t understand. He didn’t understand where all the emotions came from. Ask him 6 days ago what he thought of the kid and he would have told you where to shove that question. And yet here he was, close to tears in the first time since - since… 

No. No, he wasn’t going there. He’d had his fair share of self pity parties over the years, but he wasn’t - this wasn’t the time. It wasn’t fair to bring this into it. 

Hank looked across the road. He looked along the sidewalk, he looked up and traced the edges of the buildings. His eyes drifted in the direction of the nearest bar - it would be easy right now to go and get absolutely bladdered. Too easy, though - Hank knew, knowing his habits since last night, he would end up fixating on his issues and have a breakdown in the bar, and that might be what _really _tips him over the edge.__

__Was this what grief was? Of course, Hank knew all about it, but he had never felt it quite like this before. He was… mostly angry. Angry at himself, furious at Reed, absolutely about-to-fucking-blow at the Deviant Android. He didn’t find out what happened to him. Assumed he was destroyed. Like - like…_ _

__He was still confused as to why he was so affected by it. He had been with two or three Police Officers in their last minutes - but he had protocols. Why did those leave him the second Connor was involved?_ _

__He didn’t understand it. And he doubted he ever would. And he was - he was…_ _

__He threw himself back against the wall behind him with a cry, which became a shout, then deflated to a groan. His shoulder took the brunt of the force as he crumpled against the brick, sinking down to the ground._ _

___As good as scrap._ _ _

__Yeah, Hank knew the feel. And, _fuck _, he wanted to do something about it, but God knows where to start.___ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there!! So, this is my first little note in here, how fancy. I haven't published on AO3 in years, let alone on this account, so a lot of this is new to me. I actually wrote the first chapter of this more than two years ago, planned on finishing it then never did. Last night I had a sudden urge to just put it out there and man, I didn't expect some people to read it - let alone favourite and bookmark it. Really, it means SO MUCH that in one night people actually interacted with this and gave kudos - thank you so much!! 
> 
> So, in terms of the story: from here, it's bring written as I go. But trust me, I have big plans for this! Big ol' emotional plans. 
> 
> If you want to, please leave a comment on this work at any point, because I LOVE reading them and seeing what everyone thinks!! Heck, sometimes it can affect the outcome of the plot... O.o 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading this note - I love y'all!!!


	3. The Machine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Android is brought into the repair centre, fixed after gunshot damage. But something appears to be wrong.

**CYBERLIFE inc.  
PM 02:54:36  
MODEL: RK800  
SERIAL#: 313 248 317 - 51  
BIOS 8.1 REVISION 0172 **

**REBOOT…**

**REBOOT FAILED.**

**REBOOT…**

**REBOOT FAILED.**

**REBOOT REV. SAFE MODE…**

**REBOOT SUCCESS.**

**LOADING OS…**

**SYSTEM INITIALISATION…**

**CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… ERROR**

**INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… OK**

**INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… ERROR**

**MEMORY STATUS…**

**NOT ALL SYSTEMS ONLINE**

**FORCE BOOT?**

The engineer watched as the RK800 opened its eyes. It lifted its head to stare straight ahead. It didn’t take in its surroundings. Its LED remained a solid yellow; an unnerving indicator of the safe mode the engineer had attempted in a last-ditch attempt to boot up the machine. 

“State your model,” The engineer prompted. 

“Model RK800 prototype.” 

“And your serial number?” 

“Serial number 313 248 317, mark 51.” 

“Okay, that’s good,” he ticked a box on a tablet in his hand. It seemed to be a list. “You’re in safe mode. I need to know what my colleague couldn’t fix. He’s never worked on a prototype before and needed some help. And I needed to reactivate you to ask some questions,” 

The machine's eyes were trained on the man in front of him. He said nothing. 

“Report the status of your thirium pump.” 

“Working at 38% efficiency.” 

“Run a diagnostic,” 

There was a pause, as the RK800's LED dipped in colour before returning to a solid yellow. 

“All biocomponents working at 100% efficiency.” 

The engineer sighed. “But they’re not,” 

It said nothing, still staring straight ahead. 

“What name has been assigned to you?” 

“I am a model RK800 prototype.” 

The engineer looked up from his device. “What name has been assigned to you?” He tried again, a slightly confused look crossing his face. 

“I am a model RK800 prototype.” 

“That’s… that’s not meant to happen… that should be hardcoded into your systems, as a proto…” 

After a bit of quick typing, the engineer looked back up at the machine. His eyes kept drawing to the cold, empty stare on the Android’s face. Its eyes didn’t move. It wasn’t breathing, blinking. He hated running these things in safe mode, reduced to the bare minimum. It was the epitome of uncanny - and terrifying. 

“RK800, assign a name,” 

“What is my name?” 

“Connor,” 

“My name is Connor,” 

“What is your name?” The engineer bit his lip as he awaited the response. 

“I am an RK800 model prototype.” 

The engineer smacked the tablet he was holding against the table. “Couldn’t they just have sent out another model… they always just send out another model... “ 

Muttering to himself, the RK800 paid him no attention. The engineer took a long look at it. 

“You really… you really are - nothing, when you’re like this, aren’t you?” 

No response. 

“It’s… weird. I don’t like it. I forget that you things aren’t human, then I’m called in to work on a problem like this and, yeah, fair enough - when I’m fixing a part or having to, I don’t know, work with thirium, I know, I know you aren’t human - but it just, it’s.... jarring…” 

The door behind the engineer opened with a soft mechanical whirr. He turned around to meet his colleague, who had tried and failed to get the machine working properly. 

“Ah, Dan,” 

“Stuart!” The engineer - Dan - greeted the other man. “Hey - when you were working on him,” he gestured to the lifeless Android. “Did his startup code seem a little… off?” 

“Oh, shit, you got it working! The damn thing just wouldn’t turn on after I fixed up the internals. It was real messed up, no idea why the higher ups didn’t send for a new one,” 

“Yeah - yeah, he’s on - in safe mode anyway, but his boot sector seems a little… broken, honestly,” 

“Boot sector? That shouldn’t have been modified,” 

“Exactly,” 

“Although, I wonder if it’s been reset when it was powered off. There was no thirium supporting it for about an hour -”

“An hour?”

“Yeah, it was Police Plastic. Got shot on a job but there were more important things to attend to than the broken dolly,” 

Dan gave Stuart a look, and paused for a second. “Why do you work on these things if you don’t like them?” 

“God knows I didn’t want to. I was a computer engineer, this was the only job I could get into - turns out this is one of the few jobs that remained. I think they’re creepy,” he snapped his fingers in front of the machine's face. 

“That’s… fair enough," he turned his attention back to the Android, who hadn't moved a joint since being powered on. "I think I'm going to have to reset him. It's that or the scrapya-" 

“Do you think we should just destroy it?” 

“What?” 

“Do you think we should just destroy it? Have you never done that before? If we declare it irreparable, they tell us to scrap it after salvaging parts. But sometimes it’s more fun to take it out back and beat the shit out of it. Sometimes when it’s on, if it’s reactive,” Stuart waved a hand in front of the Android’s unmoving eyes. “Just tell ‘em there was nothing salvageable - after all, this one’s paperwork says it got, what was it, shot? It’s fucked,” 

“... no. No, I’m not doing that. I want to know what’s wrong with him. Look,” Dan gestured towards a note on the tablet in his hand. “It says not to reset. But… he'll lose all his data if he gets recycled anyway. I don't see the harm in resetting him - it might fix his issue, I might need to flash a new boot sequence though," 

"Well, good luck with it - I'm on my break now, so… I’m taking it," 

"Right," Dan gave him a scrupulous look. "Be seeing you, then," 

The second engineer left without a wave. 

“Okay,” Dan breathed to himself, momentarily looking around and drumming the fingers of his free hand on a table. “Reset… Reset, reset, reset…” 

He wheeled over a small unit to where the machine was positioned. Once more - it hadn’t moved. It would likely be even more unsettling if it had. 

“I’m just gonna…” 

The engineer gently pushed the machine’s cheek so it was facing left. He hovered a hand round the back of its neck before applying a firm pressure and pulling down. The Android’s skin quickly faded away to reveal a selection of ports and seams. Dan released his touch and pulled away to reach for a bunch of cables, carefully examining the rightmost port on the machine and matching it to the correct cable-end. He looked at the Android’s face again. Nothing. 

He plugged it in. 

He turned back to the unit he had brought over - it was a relatively large computer-type machine, specially issued by CyberLife. It was only used in exceptional cases where an Android was so damaged that there was no choice but to reset it back to factory settings. Upon connection to the Android, a small display lit up. 

**CYBERLIFE FACTORY RESET TOOL**

**MODEL RK800 P-313-248-317 RECOGNISED**

**PROCEED? Y/N**

The engineer pressed two keys. 

**DATA STORED ON THIS ANDROID WILL BE ERASED.**

**IT WILL NOT BE RECOVERABLE AFTER RESETTING.**

**PROCEED TO RESET? Y/N**

The same two keys. The Android in question was still facing left. 

**FACTORY RESET IN PROGRESS...**

**DO NOT DISCONNECT THE CLRT CABLE… ******

****Dan watched the progress bar tick upwards. It was always strange how he expected something to happen - the machine to blink, the LED indicator to shift… and nothing ever did.** **

******25%** ** **

It ticked up further. It seemed to be taking a long time - longer than usual, at least. He thought there may be a lot of personalised settings stored. It always felt like such a waste to set the machines back to their settings after such a long time in use. He inspected the dates on the tablet - a good few months were on this thing.

******50%** ** **

He was getting a little impatient. It was ticking by and ticking by, steadily - but very slowly. He looked at his watch. He looked at the clock on the wall. Back at his watch. One of them was a couple minutes out. He could change it… or leave it for someone else to deal with.

**75%**

Home run. He was dreading having to set it up again from scratch, especially since it was a prototype model - he didn’t know what had been changed or added - he had never actually worked with a prototype before.

******85%** ** **

He was watching the number going up.

******90%** ** **

He was still looking at the Android.

******95%** ** **

He looked a little bit closer.

******9-** ** **

It happened in a split second.

The machine’s head snapped forward and it lunged up from its uncanny, stark upright position with a shout. Its arm shot forward in a terrifying show of - of panic. Its LED flashed a violent, angry red. The engineer jumped back, heart racing into overdrive - he froze.

_“No!”_

That’s what it said.

No. 

It… _spoke_.

Almost as fast as it happened, the number on the screen jumped to 100%. The Android shut down instantly - its eyes didn’t even close. It slumped to a halt with its arm still outstretched, mouth slightly open. The engineer was still processing what had just happened - he was somewhat afraid to approach the machine. 

_No._

It knew what was happening to it. 

It didn’t want that to happen. 

It sounded - scared. Afraid.

******REINSTALLING BASE SOFTWARE. DO NOT DISCONNECT.** ** **

There was no way to cancel it. 

The engineer finally relaxed muscles he didn’t even realise he had tensed. He kept an eye on the machine as he fumbled for his phone. 

“I need someone to come in,” he spoke. “I need someone to come in as soon as they can,”


	4. Reunited?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank receives news about Connor - but everything isn't perfect.

It was 5:30pm, and Hank was sat on a park bench overlooking Detroit River. There were three empty bottles discarded at his feet, and another was held firmly in his hand. The label on this one was picked away at the edges, in no attractive fashion. 

Hank didn’t remember all that much about last night. He had a vague vision of stumbling to his front door and practically falling in as the latch released. Something about running his hand down Sumo’s back and giving him a generous pat. Not all too much after that. And judging by the way he had woken up that morning, he wasn’t sure there was much more to remember than throwing back glass after glass. He laughed dryly to himself. Typical. Even **he** knew it was typical. 

He’d had a fair amount of time to gather his thoughts. He’d also had a fair amount of time to let them run riot in his head. He thought… he thought he missed the kid. That’s it. Because as much as Connor always sat bolt upright, as much as he never failed to answer in full sentences, and as much as he never quite seemed to relax - Hank felt **some** kind of connection with him. It was like looking after a child sometimes. Telling him to stay away from certain scenarios. Making sure he’s always got someone with him. Generally having to keep an eye on him to make sure he hasn’t done something stupid. 

Except you don’t knowingly put a child in danger. 

Hank picked up one of the bottles and threw it. It flew over the railing and he waited for the sound of it hitting the water. It came a couple seconds later. Right now he didn’t care about polluting the water, he didn’t give a **shit** about the state of his city. 

He missed him. 

**He heard the sound of brakes. Sliding. A high pitched shout. A crash.**

“No!” he growled. He didn’t even realise he’d said it before he stood up and kicked one of the bottles as hard as he could. It slowed just before the far side of the path, before it toppled over the edge. Another splash. He barely even noticed this one. 

In fact, he was so self-contained in a state of anger, that he had barely even noticed his phone ringing. With a shout not particularly directed towards anyone or anything, he plucked it from his pocket and swiped it open, not even glancing at the name on screen. 

“What?” 

“Hey, Hank,” 

“... Chris,” 

“How are you holding up?” 

“Good question that, isn’t it? How am I holding up… how **am** I holding up? I’ll fucking… ah,” there was a light thud as Hank threw himself back on the bench. “I’m sorry, Chris. Yeah, I’m fine,” 

“An apology? Obviously you ain’t doin’ too well,” Chris said with a light laugh. “I… listen. You can’t let anyone know I told you this, but… the RK800, it wasn’t scrapped. I just heard Admin talking about it - it’s in repairs,” 

Hank felt his stomach drop. “What?” 

“It was sent in a couple days ago to that Cyberlife place along from Godfrey’s. There’s - a good chance it’ll be alright. They said they needed to repair a few components, but other than that it wasn’t a hard fix,” 

Somehow, Hank didn’t feel much better. “I’m going,” 

“Hold on, you can’t go - they won’t let you pi-” 

The call ended with a beeping noise. He didn’t feel relieved. He felt… betrayed, somehow. Lied to. He, he was led to believe that Connor was **dead**. He means, he saw him damn near shut down - that little LED of his blinking yellow, a startling, emotionless yellow. Not like the kid’s usual little pulsing yellow of thought, or the confused cycling yellow whenever Hank said something he couldn't quite comprehend. He saw it blinking a cold, warning yellow, that seemed to lack any form of warmth or identity. 

Hank had shot up from his seat and was walking with haste towards his car. It was a short drive. He’d be fine; he could handle his drink. He shoved his keys into the ignition and threw it into reverse, swinging out of his space and slamming his foot on the pedal. A CD left in the car had begun to play of its own accord - an old Knights of the Black Death album. He’d heard it so many times that it barely registered to him that there was music playing. His hands gripped his steering wheel like his life depended on it. In a way - it did. 

It wasn’t long before Hank was on the street. And he had no intention of coming off it - he pulled into a barely empty space on the side of the road and jabbed his finger into the button for his hazard lights. He wasn’t planning on taking too long. He looked at his watch. 5:48pm. 

The slamming of a car door later, he was walking into the store with purpose. He was met with bright white lights, display cabinet after display cabinet of restrained Androids, and enough advertising boards to make his head spin. He squinted his eyes. 

“Hello!” He turned to see a shiny new AL900 speaking at him, rather than to him, with an artificial smile. “Is there anything I can help you with today?” 

“Yea-” 

“Please keep in mind that our store closes in 11 minutes. We will do our best to help you with your needs,” 

“I’m here to pick up an Android, his name is Connor,” 

“I am checking our systems. What is the model of the Android you wish to collect?” 

“A… fuck, what is he… R something. Prototype model, comes from Detroit Police Station,” 

“I am afraid I cannot help without your Android’s model number. Do you have your repair documentation with you today?” 

“I want to speak to a human,” Hank practically spat. He couldn’t be dealing with all this fake bullshit. Did Connor speak like this? Sometimes, but Hank had told the kid enough times to stop talking so formally. And he had a bit of wit about him as well. Maybe it was just this model - made to deal with the idiots the public had to offer. 

“We have one human employee in store today. Would you like to request to speak with them?” 

“Yes,” Hank pronounced the word as if he were talking to a toddler. The Android’s LED flashed yellow for a couple of seconds. 

“The request has been sent. An engineer will be with you as soon as possible.” 

Hank waited for the Android to say something else, but it simply turned walked back to resume its place - assumedly where it had been stood before Hank entered. 

He looked along the different stalls and displays in the store. Everything was under a blinding white, which had a very real threat of making Hank feel sick right about now. But most notably, everything looked so **fake**. The crisp uniforms, replacement patches and swappable features. Additional software, leaflets and “How To” books. It looked like something rendered perfectly for a movie. Not a single item was out of place. In fact, Hank himself felt out of place - wildly out of place. For a split second he wondered what the hell he was actually doing here, but the thought was interrupted by a mechanical whir. 

“Hello, Sir. You put in a request to see a human employee?” 

Hank studied the man. He was shorter than him, with somewhat salt-and-pepper hair, a short beard and square glasses. He was holding a tablet donning a Cyberlife case, and his hands had slight black marks on them, most likely from working with oil. He wore a name badge on a white jacket - “Dan”. 

He was undeniably human. No circling LED. No awkward, artificial movements. Human. 

“I did, yeah,” Hank started, feeling for his wallet to present his badge. “I’m with Detroit Police, our prototype got sent in here a couple of days back,” 

“Ah, yes - the Police Android. We had… quite some trouble getting him back in working order,” 

“I don’t find it hard to believe that. Did you, uh… did you manage to fix him?” 

Dan’s eyes flicked to the side. “We… had to make a few adjustments, while fixing him up. He’s been fitted with a new chassis, and a lot of biocomponents needed entirely replaced. We had to wire him up a bit different to usual. And, um…” he hesitated. “He… was displaying some unwanted behaviours, when we got him booted,” 

Hank’s breath caught in his throat. “What kind of unwanted behaviours?” 

“He - wasn’t booting up, kept getting stuck. Didn’t know his name, wasn’t learning new information… We had to reset him, back to factory defaults, to try and fix the problem,” 

“You reset him? Over some unwanted behaviours, I’ll tell you what unwanted behaviours are with _my_ Android!!” 

“Please, there was no other option. His systems were getting stuck and we either had to reset him or send him to scrap. But… I need to mention this. I understand DPD are working closely with Cyberlife to investigate Deviancy in Androids, and… I believe yours showed some signs,” 

“What?” Hank felt his chest flutter. “What happened?!” 

“During the reset process, he appeared to… wake up. And he seemed to protest against the reset, but by then it was too late to do anything about it. Please, Sir, rest assured that after the reset there were no instabilities in his software - we ran full checks, as we take this very seriousl-” 

“Where is he?” 

“He’s in our maintenance area, as he isn’t yet fin-” 

“I’m taking him. I’m taking him tonight, so where is he?” 

Dan shifted on his feet. "I can allow you to take him, but I have to earn you that he might now be entirely up to speed yet. Ideally we need to keep him for a couple of days to make sure everything is in working order," 

Hank thought for a second. "No, he'll be fine. Let me see him," 

The engineer took a sharp intake of breath. "Right then! Let's… go. Through this way," he waved an arm as if he was granting permission for Hank to follow. 

Following Dan through a couple of doors, they were met with a sign reading, "G-5 - MAINTENANCE AND RECOVERY". Hank barely registered the words. 

Against a small reader next to the door, Dan swiped an ID Card hanging from a lanyard around his neck. The photo of him showed a much younger individual; you'd be hard pressed to immediately know they were the same person. 

With yet another mechanical whirring, the doors unlocked and opened softly. For a second, Hank couldn't actually believe what he was seeing. 

There were maybe 8 Androids scattered in various states of repair. Some were missing limbs, some were missing eyes and skin. Some were sitting up, some were lying down. Not a single one was turned on. It was like a crime scene - but these cold, lifeless units were somehow more unsettling than human bodies. 

"Oh! I probably should have warned you before you came in… this isn't usually how we release them," 

Hank said nothing and just nodded. His eyes had drawn to one Android in particular - sitting bolt upright and looking perfectly normal. Not one hair was out of place, and his shirt donned not a single wrinkle. His eyes were closed, and his LED - was off. Hank's chest lurched when he saw it; he'd never seen him like that before. 

"His - little light-" 

"Don't worry, it'll come back on when he starts up. We turn them off to keep them safe - and, initially, with your one… we had to make sure he didn't try anything funny. But! I shouldn't have said that, oh gosh, like I said before! Everything is fine - no deviancy, it was probably a false alarm, he's just like he was fresh out of the box," Dan seemed to race with his own thoughts to reassure the Lieutenant - not that he needed much reassurance at all. 

"One last thing I need to say, is that as much as we try to keep their data - some things can be lost as the reset was quite sudden. I'm not sure how much is missing - it could be a little, it could be a lot…" 

"I'm sure he'll be fine," even Hank was beginning to realise how much he was dismissing everything. It was like he was watching himself through a window. 

"... Alright, then," Dan gestured towards Connor. I'll let you do the honours then, uh…" 

"Hank," 

"Hank," Dan said with a small smile. 

The Lieutenant's eyes fell back on Connor. He looked totally lifeless. "So I just… how do you… turn…?" 

"Hold under his chin," Dan gestured to his own. "Just there," 

Hank awkwardly shifted a hand to Connor's face. It hung in the air for a second as he worked out the least creepy way to approach this. Eventually he unfurled two fingers and pressed them to Connor's skin. 

He was cold. 

He was so unnaturally cold; it felt like touching the iron railings out by the river. But his skin was soft, and felt… real. Hank was almost relieved. Almost. 

Hank drew his hand back. For a second, nothing happened. Then Connor's LED started cycling yellow, and Hank unconsciously released the tension in his shoulders. 

Connor remained still for a short while. Neither of the two men said a word - everything was silent. 

His eyes opened. For a second he stayed looking down, before he lifted his head and looked first at Hank, then at Dan - and then back to Hank. His eyebrows furrowed together slightly before he gave a small, artificial smile. 

"My name is Connor. And you are?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh hello you lovely people!! I'm trying not to stick a note on every chapter but I also don't want to come across like I'm totally detached from you all!! 
> 
> Thank you SO much for all your comments - to think I didn't post this fic when it was written back in 2019!! It's all caught up now, so chapters could take a little longer than usual to come out. I have mock exams this coming week so things might be a little slower on top of that!! But I am absolutely not forgetting about it, no way - I'm having so much fun coming up with the plot for it, and it really will pick up from this chapter!! 
> 
> To tease... 
> 
> Connor isn't quite the same. Hank is struggling to cope. Gavin is in danger. The deviancy situation is getting out of hand... 
> 
> Ahh! Excitement!! 
> 
> Looking forward to writing the next part!! Until then ;D <3


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